


Fighter

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: "practice", Exhibitionism, Margaret's a tease, Temporary Duty, frank burns eats worms, girls just being girls, top margaret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: What she'd had with Frank was a flicker of this, a premonition of this. He'd whimper and break under a stern command, but Lorraine was a fighter.Hers.
Relationships: Lorraine Anderson/Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Margaret strode out of the scrub room with her chin high, already pushing back against the threat of tears. Lorraine followed hot on her heels, silently through Post-op, and into Supply. As soon as the door shut behind them, she hissed, "What the _hell_ Margaret?"

Margaret turned her attention to counting boxes of sulfa. "Don't take that tone with me," she said, her voice a low warning. "I could have you written up for insubordination."

Lorraine grabbed the back of her shirt, practically dizzy with anger. "Insubord - oh _Margaret,_ don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ pull rank on me, you - "

Margaret turned around, grabbing Lorraine's wrist and forcing it down to her side, letting her full two inches of extra height bear down. "You _what_?" she asked, voice shaking with rage.

__"You _bitch_."_ _

Before she knew what she was doing, Margaret had Lorraine by the hair and shoved her across the room. Lorraine stumbled backward, tripped on a folded mattress, and fell. Margaret stood over her, glaring, hands on her hips, lips pressed into a thin line.

Lorraine slowly gathered herself, dusting her hands on her thighs and getting to her feet. She stood up and stepped back to where she'd been before Margaret pushed her. She looked up. She'd always been able to read Margaret's face like a book.

And she knew beneath the fury, beneath the ice in her eyes and the fire in her jaw, she could see the fault lines in Margaret's confidence. The ones that began when she stuttered as a child and grew with her father's perennial disappointments. The ones she'd clearly spent the last decade plastering over with seductions, with relationships that went nowhere, with - Lorraine could gag - __Frank Burns.__

She knew and saw all of it. Which is why she knew when she took Margaret's cheeks in her palms and kissed her, Margaret wouldn't push her away.

Margaret didn't push her away.

She reached for Lorraine's hair and twisted her fingers into the roots until Lorraine had to tilt her head to keep from screaming, never leaving her lips. Margaret kissed her with more teeth than tongue, catching her bottom lip before trailing a series of kisses down her neck. She yanked at Lorraine's collar, frustrated when she couldn't uncover more than a few inches of skin. She ripped at it with a grunt, the cheap tshirt stretching, then tearing away.

Lorraine's knees buckled when Margaret's teeth and tongue found the sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. It was all she could do to hang on.

Margaret wished, for a number of reasons, that she'd brought her whip with her. It wasn't enough to have Lorraine pinned beneath her, hands scrabbling, clawing at her back as she kissed her breathless. Wasn't enough to feel her thrust her hips up against Margaret's thigh. Wasn't enough to hear her panting and begging in the same breath.

Margaret wanted to see her cry.

What she'd had with Frank was a flicker of this, a premonition of this. He'd whimper and break under a stern command, but Lorraine was a fighter. _Hers_. The heady rush of feeling her yield, of wanting to feel her knuckle under, grabbed hold of Margaret and wouldn't let go. She didn't want an apology.

She wanted surrender.

Lorraine braced herself against the shelves, unable to hold back a gasp as Margaret's tongue traced the outer edge of her ear, her fingers stuffed tight beneath Lorraine's waistband, circling and stroking.

"If you think," Margaret whispered, her voice steady and cold against Lorraine's frantic pulse, "that I'm going to reward you for that little display, I want you to imagine walking out of here feeling like this and getting no relief for the next ___week._ "__

Lorraine burst into tears. Margaret kept touching her as she pulled Lorraine's head to the side, kissing the tear tracks, licking at the salt. "You wouldn't like that?" she asked innocently.

"If - if you don't want - me to have - any - " Lorraine's voice hitched through breath after shuddery breath - "you - should - stop. Now."

Margaret yanked her hand out of Lorraine's pants. Lorraine buckled and moaned, resting her head for a moment on Margaret's shoulder, her hands never leaving the shelf. Margaret lifted her glistening fingers to Lorraine's mouth.

"Clean up your mess. I won't have you being so sloppy."

 _ _I__ t was the wrong moment to hear choppers overhead. Impossibly wrong. Margaret's trained ear got them first, Lorraine following her cocked head, her sudden mental departure from the moment.

"Damnit," Margaret swore softly. "Wounded. We'll be needed - they'll be coming through here any minute." Lorraine nodded, buttoning her pants and raking her fingers through her hair.

"Lor - " she started, but Lorraine just stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to Margaret's damp forehead.

"Marg," she said, her voice low and mischievous - Margaret could hear the twinkle in her eye. "Wherever that came from - don't lock it up." She dropped a hand and squeezed Margaret affectionately, prompting a bit of a jump. She pulled away slightly, seeking Margaret's eyes, which were still staring off toward the window. "Marg?"

Margaret snapped out of it. "Yes. We have to go. We have to get out of here and - "

"Wait.you?" Margaret asked. Lorraine melted into a soft smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Finally, Margaret let out the breath she hadn't been holding. "Okay. Then I am, too."

They busied themselves gathering supplies as the sound of footsteps rattled the plywood walls. Just before they left, Lorraine hip-checked Margaret playfully into the doorway.

"To be continued?"

Margaret smirked at her. "If you're very. _very_. good."


	2. Chapter 2

Margaret and Lorraine slipped into the mess tent, just in time to overhear Kellye ask "Where's Houlihan?" and Baker reply "She's probably reorganizing the sulfa. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

Any other night, Margaret'd have flinched. Tonight, she fluttered. No one knew she was here. No one knew she and Lorraine were holding hands under the blanket over their laps, their heads covered by hats and other blankets. They were just two more nurses, drab-covered bumps on a back bench.

Margaret ran her newly-trimmed fingernails over the inside of Lorraine's wrist and was rewarded with a shiver that was definitely not about the weather. Lorraine, never one to refuse an opportunity for revenge, twisted her hand to grab Margaret by the wrist and drag it between her thighs, clamping Margaret's fingers. 

"Your fingers are _freezing_ " she breathed. "You need a good thaw."

Margaret wriggled her fingers against the seam of Lorraine's fatigues experimentally. An iron grip descended on her wrist as Lorraine twitched slightly, clearly trying to send Margaret a message.

Margaret looked straight ahead, eyes perfectly innocent, lips nearly pursed to whistle as she stroked at the rigid, stitched line of fabric she knew was pressing exactly where she hoped it'd land.

Lorraine felt relief as the movie finally started. She hoped it was a funny one. She'd need the cover of a few dozen people's laughter if Margaret kept this up.

Half an hour in, and Lorraine could barely keep still. Margaret sat, impassive as ever, offering the occasional chuckle, eyes never moving from the movie screen. Her fingers, however, hadn't stopped moving, teasing, reaching up to unbutton Lorraine's fly. When she'd found Lorraine's skin - soaked, swollen, silky - Lorraine let out a moan that she desperately tried to turn into a laugh at a joke that was barely funny. She couldn't be sure, but she could swear Margaret smirked.

Lorraine closed her eyes, gripping Margaret's thigh to keep herself upright, her other hand braced on the bench, her knees splayed under the blanket as Margaret urged her closer and closer to the edge. She ducked her head for just a moment, sweating, even in the cold. _There_ was the Marg she remembered. _There_ was that daredevil she'd fallen in love with at sixteen.

Now if only she could find a way to crest the wave without detection.

Margaret allowed herself the smallest smile as she felt Lorraine start to shake under her hands. She, Margaret, had taught herself how to reach climax in near stillness, out of necessity, out of thin walls and overbearing parents, but Lorraine had never learned. As she heard Lorraine's shuddering, stuttered breath, she stilled her fingers. She felt, rather than heard, the swallowed moan of protest. 

And then she pulled them out and wiped them on the stripe of Lorraine's stomach just under her shirt.

She fold her hands primly in her lap as Lorraine squeezed her leg, then punched it just a little. She dared a sidelong glance, and blushed as soon as she caught Lorraine's face, flickering in the light of the pictures; flushed, sweat plastering the little tufts of hair by her ears to her skin, mouth slightly open, eyes closed. Naked desire. All hers.

Margaret stood up and made for the back of the tent. She didn't have to look to know Lorraine would follow.

Lorraine stumbled after Margaret, fumbling her pants together and trying not to lose the blankets. The evening drizzle had advanced to a full on downpour. Their purpose momentarily forgotten, Lorraine and Margaret ran for her tent a a full tilt.

They crashed through the door, shedding sodden blankets and groping blindly for the light cord, for the furniture, for one another. 

"Marg - where _are_ you?" Lorraine sputtered. Then suddenly, a hand landed on her shoulder. Twisted the cloth of her jacket. Pulled her close. 

Somehow Margaret had gotten /all/ of her wet clothes off in the scuffle. She kissed Lorraine hard, fingers tangling in her hair as Lorraine shrugged and twisted out of her jacket. They broke just enough for Margaret to pull her shirt over her head, and then, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, Lorraine put a hand on Margaret's back, and another on her chest, right between her breasts, and steered her toward the bed, and then tumbled onto a pile of scratchy Army blankets neither of them noticed.

"Thought you'd work me over with a crowd?" Lorraine hissed as she kissed her way down Margaret's neck, relishing the small, unbidden gasps, the clutch of Margaret's nails on her bare back. "Thought you'd leave me high and dry and wanting? Thought you wouldn't _finish the job?"_

Margaret whimpered as Lorraine drove her hips against Margaret's thigh, grinding, small, low moans interrupting her game of hardball.

"You're going to - _ungh_ \- finish what you started, Houlihan." 

Margaret nearly swooned at the words. Her stomach seemed to climb right up into her throat as Lorraine's lips came for hers again and again, swollen and perfect. She loved it when someone else took charge - man, woman, did it matter? All that mattered was that Margaret could take it. She could just surrender.

Lorraine rolled off her and struggled out of her wet trousers. When she came back to Margaret, she seized Margaret's wrist again, drawing it between her legs. "You know what to do," she whispered hoarsely. "You've always known what to do."

Margaret rested the pads of her fingers against Lorraine, marveling at the way something so simple could bring someone so wildly to pieces. She leaned up on her elbow, resting her cheek against her other hand as she started working her fingers back and forth, at once familiar and odd. The rain clattered overhead as Lorraine let loose with the sounds she'd been holding back all night. Each pitched breath went straight through Margaret, an insistent wet throb growing between her own legs as she worked her fingers faster and faster.

She knew she had her when Lorraine started begging, "please," "don't stop," "Oh, _Margaret_ " and there it was, the shake, the full-body trembling as sure as Margaret remembered it. 

"Hold back just one more second. Don't let it overtake you," she said into Lorraine's ear as she slipped two of her fingers inside, Lorraine's whole body clenching in welcome.

"Please, Marg - I can't - I _can't_ " Lorraine cried, throwing a hand over her eyes as Margaret curled her fingers knowingly, wresting perfect yelps and gasps. 

"No one will notice - " Margaret crooned, knowing exactly what she was aiming for, " - a few extra puddles."

Lorraine reached down, hand still over her eyes, and rubbed furiously as Margaret hooked her fingers and dragged. For a long minute, they kept up the frenetic pace, and then suddenly, Lorraine froze, the tips of her fingers pushing just so slightly on Margaret's wrist. Margaret pulled her hand out just enough as Lorraine flooded her palm.

This time, Margaret didn't try to suppress the grin.


End file.
